Before the Blaze
by Rosalind1776
Summary: Ten years before the Quarter Quell and the Second Revolution, Annie and Finnick's lives collided for the first time.  This is the story of that moment and the years that followed: the beginning of a love story.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games universe.

It was one of those late spring days just beginning to be tinged with golden summer heat, and twelve-year-old Annie went to visit her father at the docks. "Liam!" She caught the attention of her neighbor, a young man with shaggy blonde hair, who proceeded to pick her up and spin her around in his arms.

"Well, hello there, princess," he said, setting her down.

"Has my father come back yet?"

"Not yet. But I'd expect him any moment. He was just-whoa!" There was a flurry of motion in Annie's peripheral vision, and suddenly two younger boys tackled Liam, laughing. Liam stayed on his feet, but overbalanced and staggered forward into Annie, knocking her backward. She let out a scream before hitting the water. Sputtering, she accepted the hand that reached out to her and clambered back onto the dock. Looking down at her dress, now soaked-through, she opened her mouth to take out her anger on the nearest source-the boy who had helped her up. But he spoke first.

"Sorry, we didn't see you there-Annie, right?" He shot her a charming smile, his green eyes sparkling, and suddenly, she recognized him: Finnick Odair. He was two years ahead of her-and undeniably attractive. Unable to muster up the rage that she had been counting on, Annie simply rolled her eyes and sighed disdainfully, turning away before her face turned too red. "Liam," she said, turning to the young man, who now held Finnick's friend in a playful headlock, "I'm going home to change."

"Alright, princess."  
Annie marched away, not daring to look back at Finnick Odair and his stupid friend or his stupid handsome face, and pointedly ignoring the pounding of her heart in her ears that had nothing to do with anger.

Barely a month later, at Annie's first Reaping, Finnick was chosen as a tribute. She watched the Games with her father, not daring to look away from the boy with the trident who beat the odds and won it all.


	2. Chapter 2

Five years later, Annie's own name was pulled from the Reaping ball, and after an emotional farewell to her father, Annie stepped over the threshold into the train that would take her and Eric Callaghan to the Capitol-and found herself face-to-face with Finnick Odair once more.

"Excuse me," she muttered and tried to brush past him. He grabbed her shoulder to stop her, his expression suddenly serious.

"How are you?" he said, clearly not just making polite conversation. The sympathetic look in his eyes should have comforted her. Instead, it just annoyed her.

"I'm fine," she said forcefully, but he evidently was not satisfied.

"It's just…this is going to be rough."

"I'm aware of that."

"Not just the Games…the Capitol. If you need someone to talk to…I'm here."

"And you know all about the Capitol, don't you?" Annie thought of all the Capitol women, glamorous, grotesque, who had perched on Finnick's arm or draped themselves over his shoulders. That obnoxious wink he'd shoot the paparazzi, the way he blew kisses into the crowd; it was disgusting, it really was. She didn't care if she made him angry; she needed him to know that she would not be one of those girls who kissed the ground he walked on.

But Finnick didn't look angry. He looked shocked, as if Annie had physically slapped him. A flicker of what could possibly be hurt rippled across his face before he turned away, muttered, "It's just an offer" and let her continue on her way.

Her days at the Capitol went as well as could be expected. She took a liking to Mags and pulled an average score in training working with knives-her aim was good to throw, and after years of helping her father gut and clean fish, she had a steady, precise hand with a blade in close quarters. When prepping for her interview, Mags seemed to have already decided that Annie should be presented as "smart," and helped her practice quips to deal out.

"You don't to want to seem too stuffy-not a lot of academic-types in the Capitol. Finnick could help you; that boy really knows how to work an audience."

Annie tried to keep a straight face, but Mags displayed a disarming ability to read emotions.

"I understand you two had a bit of a run-in on the train from Four."

Annie shrugged.

"He's a nice boy, Finnick. More to him than meets the eye, you know."

"Yes, well, some of that Capitol footage leaves little to the imagination."

"Oh, that's good, use that if Caesar asks you about him. I think that should be enough to work with for tonight. Let's get some lunch, shall we?" They were almost to the dining room when Mags turned to Annie one more time. "Just…give him a chance, will you?"  
Annie agreed, mostly to please Mags. During lunch, she actually made conversation with Finnick for the first time, which seemed to surprise him. Before her interview, she even asked Finnick for any tips he had to make help her "work the audience," as Mags had suggested.

He didn't hesitate. "You have a beautiful smile."

She shrugged and looked away, embarrassed.

"No, it's true. It's genuine too, not painted on. Really smile when you talk, and they'll love you."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. "And good luck."

The interview went much as Mags had told her it would. Caesar complimented her dress (it _was_ beautiful, Annie agreed, made of a flowing, shimmering blue-green fabric) and asked her about her early life and her time in the Capitol. Annie was clever, and the audience laughed along, even though she was fairly sure the "Panem et circenses" comment went well over their heads. And sure enough, Finnick was a topic of discussion.

"So, Annie, what was it like working with a heartthrob like Finnick Odair? Have you seen a new side of him as a mentor?"

"Well, I don't think there are too many sides of Finnick Odair that all of Panem hasn't already seen."  
The audience cheered. All eyes turned to Finnick, who grinned and held out his hands, palms up, as if to acknowledge a fact.

"Indeed, indeed, but all the same, did you find him different in person than on television?"

Annie spoke without thinking, a great mistake. "We'd met before he became a Victor."

"Did you? And what was he like?"

She raised her eyebrows and put on a "hurt" expression, "He and his friend knocked me off of a dock." When the audience laughed, she shot a smile up at Finnick, who, when prompted by Caesar, simply shouted back, "It was an accident!" with a mock "offended" expression of his own. Annie was somewhat surprised that he remembered-or at least, was pretending to.

"Obviously not the most debonair of introductions," Caesar said. "And you, Annie, seem like a girl with a good head on her shoulders. I can't imagine you swooning over Finnick Odair."

"Not without a lot of convincing on his part," she said, folding her arms over her chest.

"Well, what do you have to say, Finnick?"

"Only that I love a good challenge, Miss Cresta," he said with that horrible wink.

"A challenged indeed. And with that, ladies and gents, I'm afraid our time with Annie is up. Thank you so much, my dear," Caesar said, kissing her hand. Annie made her way back to her seat as they announced Eric's name and began his interview. Eric was presented as cocky, though he combated any perceived arrogance with a remarkable, self-effacing humor. Annie rather suspected he'd gotten extensive help from Finnick on this image. She watched with only vague interest in the rest of the interviews, and was truly pleased at the prospect of retreating to her room. Unfortunately, Finnick caught up to her in the hallway.

"Excellent interview. We won't have any trouble getting sponsors for you."

"Thanks." A period of awkward silence followed, before Finnick spoke, somewhat hesitantly.

"I really do remember that day at the docks, you know. And I am sorry; it _was_ an accident."

"Oh, I knew that," Annie laughed. Another long silence.

"I hate it when you do that wink," Annie blurted out.

Finnick didn't seem surprised. "Not more than I hate doing it." Suddenly, Finnick looked over his shoulder, a little nervously. "Well, at any rate, you'd best be getting your rest."

Annie stopped herself from making a snide remark about Finnick's plans for the night. She _did_ promise Mags to be nice, and Finnick looked too stressed to taunt at this late hour. She settled on a curt, "See you tomorrow," before entering her room and shutting the door. Checking the peephole, Annie saw Finnick glance at a folder he carried under his arm and heave a sigh before setting off towards the elevator again. This was not the expression of a Capitol playboy off for a night of debauchery. As Annie undressed and climbed into bed, she found herself thinking of Mags's words. _"More to him than meets the eye."_


	3. Chapter 3

Less than a week later, and the last thing Annie was thinking about was the enigma that was Finnick. She managed to get out of the Cornucopia with a good set of knives and had found a stream, giving her drinking water and a food supply of fish. The bloodbath of the first day had taken out eight tributes, the next day one, and on the fourth day, two. So, on the start of the sixth day, that was eleven down, thirteen still in play. Annie had been cleaning fish from the stream she had found, probably a backwater to the river which flowed up to the dam near the Cornucopia, when she heard an unusual rustle in the nearby trees. Wary of muttations or better-armed Careers, she clutched a knife in each hand and stepped just behind a boulder facing the disturbance. The figure came out from behind the trees. Human, male, hands free of weapons, none visible. He looked warily around, his face still in shadow, before turning his back to Annie's hiding place. Suddenly, his eyes fixed on a point on the ground-Annie's half-cleaned fish. Fearing discovery and attack, Annie leapt out and had her knife at his throat in a second. She was just steeling herself to cut his throat when he choked out, "Annie, no, it's me. Please-" The words didn't persuade her, but the voice did. Eric. She didn't strike, but neither did she let go. "Why shouldn't I? What do you have to offer?"

"Medicine."  
"What makes you think I need that?"

"I saw your leg get slashed on the first day. Looked deep. Could get infected."

"I washed it out," Annie said, but her uncertainly could be heard in her voice.

"Well, I haven't sustained anything like that, and Finnick still sent me this last night. What does that tell you?"

There was a long pause before Annie lowered her knife. She still held it in front of her as Eric turned around slowly, one hand outstretched. "Allies?"

Annie switched her blades so that both were her left hand and she could shake Eric's with her right.

Three days went by, only one more death-the girl from Three.

The afternoon of the ninth day, Annie and Eric had just finished a meal, and Eric made some sort of remark about how bored everyone at home must be by the lack of action. Annie laughed, and somehow, it set them both off. They fought off fits of laughter as they began to pack up their belongings to move again. One of Annie's knives kept slipping out of her hand, which only seemed to make the whole situation funnier.

It all happened in an instant. A figure charged out from the trees, wielding something huge that caught the light-a blade. Annie didn't even have time to open her mouth before the blade came down on Eric. Annie's eye reported fragments of the following scene back to her splintered brain.

_Cassio's ax covered in blood-Eric's blood. Eric's body. Eric's head. Away from his body. A knife in Cassio's chest. My knife. His ax falling useless to the ground. I slip and fall. In blood. Eric's blood. Cassio's blood. My blood? Running. Running. Every step._

_Run-just-run-run-away-run-where?-run-slip-fall-twist-hands-feet-stand-legs-run-run-run-run-go-go-away-run-legs-ache-can't-run-can't-breathe-in-out-run-run-can't-stop-cave-safe?-fall-sleep?-can't-_

_But I'm safe. For now._

Annie curled up just inside the mouth of the cave. _It's raining_. She noticed. _How long has it been raining?_ Looking down at her clothing, she was soaked to the skin, but made no move to remove the cold, wet clothes. _My face is wet_. But when Annie touched her hand to her face, the water there was warm, and when she held a drop of it to her mouth, it was salty. _I'm crying._

_I should sleep. "Sleeping is the way we heal." That's what Dad said, wasn't it? _Annie tried to close her eyes, but she only saw Eric's empty eyes looking back at her. So she lay, eyes open, motionless, until her aching body overrode her fear and let her slip into unconsciousness.

Finnick and Mags made the joint decision to direct all funds past and future towards keeping Annie alive for the foreseeable future.

"It's a shame…she seems nice," Haymitch from Twelve muttered, an empty bottle in front of him and a half-full one in his hand.

"She's not out yet," Finnick said, trying for a tone of breezy, hopeful, confidence. Haymitch's derisive snort and Mags's raised eyebrows demonstrated how badly he had failed.

The next several days passed in the following way: Annie woke, gratefully took the food and water Finnick and Mags sent, ate, occasionally slept, occasionally shook and rocked back and forth, and a few times, started screaming the way Finnick did in his nightmares when he relived his days in the arena. The cameras had more or less stopped focusing on her; a poor, traumatized girl wasn't exciting enough for the audience. Of course, nothing much else was happening in the rest of the arena, either. Rumor among the mentors was that the Gamemakers were planning something to shake things up-something big.

"Might even end this thing altogether," Chaff from Eleven mused.

"But what would it be? Mutts?" Cecilia from Eight asked.

"Maybe."

They didn't have to wait long to find out. On the thirteenth day, the image on the monitors began to shake. Beetee from Three was checking into the possibility of a technical malfunction when chasms began to open in the ground-and in the dam. All of the mentors (excepting Haymitch, who appeared to have passed out) realized at once: the earthquake would break the dam and flood the tributes out. A handful could swim at all and seemed to sink outright. The girl from One was the first Career to tire and drown. Hour by hour, as the waters rose, so did the desperation of the remaining tributes-except Annie. When the water had reached her, she seemed relatively calm and calculating, floating on her back and using strokes that saved her energy. Her face had been relatively blank-but suddenly, she caught sight of a blade in the light-maybe even one of her own knives, and her face contorted.

"Is she laughing?" Mags asked, a rather distant look on her face. They must have cut Annie's audio feed, because she didn't seem to be making any sound, but her shoulders were shaking, and she had this weird frozen expression.

Finnick suddenly flashed back to a one of the earlier Games-maybe ten years ago. An older neighbor boy had reaped, and his mother had watched the Games with the Odairs. The boy was killed a few days in, stabbed in the back by a tribute from One who had been his ally. The mother brought her hands up to her face, but not fast enough to hide the tears. She-and everyone around her-was silent for a long, horrible minute, but all too soon she started making these horrible, gasping sounds. They were short and harsh and sounded a little like- like laughter.

"She's not laughing. She's hyperventilating." Finnick felt panic rising up in his own chest. "She could pass out."

"I wouldn't worry about it," said Haymitch from where he sat a few seats down. "There's only the boy from Two left, and he's going down for the third time." Haymitch took a swig from the wine bottle in his fist. Sure enough, less than a minute later, the final cannon went off, followed immediately by a string of curses from Enobaria, who "really thought this kid could pull it off"; her colorful phrases nearly drowned out the sound of trumpets blaring and the whirr of the hovercraft that pulled Annie out of the water. Finnick sighed and slumped in his chair. _Another year over…who knows how many years to go?_


	4. Chapter 4

He stayed in this reverie until Mags placed her hand on his shoulder. "We should go visit her," she suggested.

After waiting for what seemed like hours, they were finally let into her room. She was sitting up in bed, her knees at her chest, but her eyes were closed, and her hands were clenched over her ears.

"She's…not quite right," one of the attendants said, looking away.

"Probably just tired," Mags said quickly, and the attendant nodded, but left quickly.

Mags gently tapped her on the shoulder. "Annie? It's us."

At Mags's touch, Annie's eyes flew open and she jumped slightly, removing her arm from Mags's reach.

"It's alright, dear. You're safe now."  
Annie shook her head rapidly, back and forth.

Mags shot a concerned look at Finnick, who stepped forward himself.

"Annie?" He was careful not to touch her. She turned towards him, her eyes wide, but unfocused. Unreachable.

Finnick looked at Mags across Annie's bed. "She can't do her interviews like this."

"We have some time…" Mags said, but her voice trailed off lamely.

Annie had gone back to the position in which they'd found her.

In several hours, they tried everything: talking about home, talking about nothing in particular, and in one horrible attempt, addressing the problem head-on, saying Eric's name, talking about the ax, physically trying to prevent her from slipping away. This direct attack failed miserably, only increasing her distress ten-fold. She screamed and fought, but it was when she started to cry that Finnick had to leave the room, his own nerves too rattled to be any comfort. When he came back, Annie was at least peaceful and seemingly aware.  
"What happened?"  
"I tried singing…the music seems to sooth her."

"Well…that's something."

Mags had a talk with Caesar, and peaceful music was piped in during the interview. Mags and Finnick stood by to try to cover if Annie slipped away, or worse, broke down completely, but their presence wasn't needed. Caesar did almost all of the talking, and Annie managed vague nods and brief answers. The incident with Eric was not even alluded to; much of the time was spent talking about her family and life in Four and how those skills had helped her in the arena. It was a brief and dull interview, but at least it was controlled. Caesar was tactful and kind, and got Annie out of the spotlight as quickly as possible.

Very little improvement had been made when her Victory Tour rolled around. She'd had meetings with several therapists, but the results were the same: she'd either clam up and stare off into space or lose herself in her own private horrors, screaming and crying hysterically.

Mags visited frequently, occasionally bringing Finnick along.  
"She doesn't want to see me," he'd said the first time Mags had asked.

"Honestly dear, I don't think she really "sees" anyone right now. She barely talks to her father."

"Do you think she'll ever…?" Finnick couldn't finish the question, and Mags couldn't answer. They both thought of Wiress from Three, who still couldn't hold a coherent conversation.

The irony of the situation struck Finnick all at once. Annie, the "smart" girl, had sacrificed her mind, as Finnick, the "beautiful" young boy, was forced to sacrifice his body on every _single_ visit to the Capitol. It was almost funny, how fitting it all was.

The Tour was awkward, to say the least. Annie was passively laced and zipped and buttoned into outfit after outfit and coaxed into reading very brief remarks before being led offstage by Mags. She spent most of the Capitol ball in her room. Finnick found himself forced to fill the gaps as best he could, waving off prying questions about Annie's health with his best Capitol grin. "No really, she's just shy. Chronic stage fright, the poor thing. Don't know _how_ Caesar got her through those interviews. Incredible skill, that man." "Well, of course she's overwhelmed. A fisherman's daughter suddenly the focus of a nation-how would you feel?" "Oh, she's just a little under the weather today. Caught a nasty cold back in Three-she just hasn't quite gotten over it yet."

But gullible as the audience usually was, they seemed to sense that something was off. Imperfections confused and unsettled Capitol citizens, but truly, they also terrified them. So once the obligatory traditions had been addressed, she was left alone.

Alone. Unreachable.  
Finnick's father had introduced himself to Mr. Cresta, and the two seemed to get on well, these two widowers with strange children.  
Life went on, as it usually does, but Finnick that his thoughts returned time and time again to Annie. Annie, the impetuous girl at the docks. Annie, the beautiful, witty girl in the blue-green dress. Annie, the broken girl trapped in a nightmare. He wondered what would have happened if Annie had not survived the arena. Would she become just another former tribute to him? Another ghostly face to haunt his dreams? He wondered, even, if it might have been better for everyone had Annie died peacefully. What she was living right now seemed far worse than death.


	5. Chapter 5

_The ax, the blood, the knife, Eric. Eric's eyes. Eric's head. The blood. The screaming. Run, fear, run, blood, rain, tears, water, drowning, spinning, dying, floating, flying, aching, dying, spinning, sinking, silver, gleaming, fear, choking, dizzy, spinning, dying-_

"Annie."

_I am dying, I am dying a thousand deaths, the ax, the blood, Eric, Cassio-the water, the knife, I can't breathe_

"Annie!"

_I am choking, I am dying. Darkness, blood, pain, ache, Eric- __**NO**__-take me instead. Just take me, and this will end. Just kill me, __**kill me**__-_

"ANNIE!"

Annie opened her eyes to find herself tangled in her bedsheets-and Finnick standing over her, holding her still. Her throat was raw.

"You were screaming."

This in itself was not unusual-but the pained expression on Finnick's face was. Annie struggled for words.

"I'm sorry."

Finnick made a strange sound, a laugh mixed with a dry sob. "Sorry? It's not-don't say-" Finally, he seemed to give up, and changed the subject. "May I sit?"

Annie nodded, and Finnick sat next to her on the bed.

"Your father didn't seem altogether thrilled to let me be alone with his daughter in her room…"

Annie laughed, an airy, strained, forced laugh that made Finnick shiver. But then she spoke, and her eyes seemed clearer than Finnick had seen them since before the Games.

"He must know that you love a challenge…Will you stay here tonight?"

Finnick was surprised, but didn't hesitate. "Sure." He continued, a little under his breath, "Maybe you can help me when the nightmares come."

Annie's hearing was evidently perfectly unaffected by her trauma. "You have nightmares?"

"Every night, without fail. Thought you were special, did you?" Finnick said with a smile. "I suppose all us Victors are alike. All of us broken, each in his own way."

"You should tell that to your next Capitol girlfriend; maybe she'd pity you."

"Nobody pities any of the President's whores."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Annie was silent for a long moment, calculating.

"That explains a lot."

There was another silence, and, tentatively, Finnick leaned back against the pillows and put his arm around Annie's shoulders. She didn't pull away, and instead, lay back against his chest.

"I'm going to try to sleep now," Annie said. "Will you…stay?"

"Of course."

As Annie fell asleep, she could have sworn she heard Finnick speak again, a single word.

"Always."


	6. Chapter 6

The spring after Annie's victory, Mags had her first stroke. Finnick was petrified; one moment, she was fine, and the next, she couldn't seem to speak clearly or understand what Finnick said to her. Her movements were strange, uncoordinated. Finnick called the hospital immediately.

He sat in the waiting room for what seemed like hours. For some reason, the thought of losing Mags was more than he could bear. He had been very young when his mother passed away, and he hadn't really understood what was happening. This was different. He was now acutely aware of death, the crushing finality of it all-and how it destroyed the people left behind.

Mags pulled through. Her speech was slurred, and it took extensive rehab before she could move both sides of her body equally.

It was clear she wouldn't be up to mentoring for the Games that year.

Not long before the Reaping, Mr. Cresta came to Finnick with the news he'd been dreading. "The President sent word: he wants Annie to mentor. Do you think she should do it?"

"Quite frankly, sir, I don't think she has a choice."  
So they sat side-by-side as two more young people were reaped. Finnick put his arm discretely on Annie's shoulder, and squeezed it hard if she looked like she was starting to slip.

The tributes weren't extraordinary: a boy called Liam who was solidly built and turned out to be good with a sword, and a girl, Molly, who was a decent archer. Finnick, along with the District's escort, Annabelle Prewett, kept up most of the conversation on the train to the Capitol; Annie stayed silent, her eyes slightly unfocused.

Finnick couldn't stop his heart from sinking slightly when he saw the gleaming Capitol rising in the distance. Another trip meant another attendant handing him another folder with his "orders" for the visit.

The first night was as horrible as it always was, first watching the tributes process in, knowing that all but one of them would be dead in less than a fortnight.

After the parade, Finnick went directly to meet his first "patron." Before he left, he caught Beetee by the arm. "Could you make sure that Annie gets in alright?" he asked. Beetee nodded. "Sure thing, Finnick."

His first patron was old enough to be his mother, though she'd had so many surgeries, her face looked like a mask of plastic, marked with a little pink heart tattoo on each cheek. When she took his arm, he saw that her fingernails were freakishly long, with the tips sharpened to fine points, like claws. He knew immediately that it was going to be a difficult night.

Well after midnight, he slunk back into the hotel, struggling to stay upright. Once he'd safely shut the door to his room, he began to undress and inspect the damage. The long scratches on his back and stomach were still bleeding, there was a lump forming where his head had smashed into the backboard of her bed, and worst of all, no matter how hard he scrubbed with scalding hot water, he just couldn't get the smell of her horrible perfume off of his body. He crawled into bed, but he tossed and turned for at least another hour. Burying his face in the newly-washed sheets, he could still smell it. Blood, sweat, and that horrible smell of fake roses that she called perfume. _Roses. Why did it have to be roses?_ Roses made him think of Snow, of those reptilian eyes and that terrible smirk. Roses haunted his dreams that night. Roses that turned into snakes, which formed a trident that burned to touch. The burning spread, and soon he was bleeding. Every drop of blood that fell became a rose, became a snake, became the bodies of the tributes he'd killed, and those he'd seen die every year since. Glassy eyes stared up at him from Eric's head, separated from his body by the bloody ax nearby. Annie was screaming, crying-

Finnick woke up with a gasp of shock, but the screaming did not go away. Before he had time to think, he found himself banging on the door to Annie's room, not caring who heard him shouting her name. Luckily, after less than a minute, the screaming stopped, and the door was pulled open. He quickly stepped in, shut the door behind him, and took the still-quivering Annie in his arms. "It's okay," he whispered. "It's okay."

A few hours later, he dragged himself out of Annie's bed, careful not to disturb her. She looked so peaceful, the only evidence of last night's panic being the tear stains which streaked across her pillow. He returned to his room to dress before heading down the hall for breakfast. He poured himself a large cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine would get him through the day.

"Good morning," Annabelle Prewett said, entirely too cheerfully, as she sat down across from him. He managed a nod and a weak smile in response.

"I suppose you and Annie will be talking strategy with Liam and Molly this morning?"

_Oh no._ Finnick hadn't given a thought to how the strategy meetings would work. Usually, Mags took the female tribute and he the male, but leaving Annie alone with Molly wouldn't do either of them any good.

"Yes. I was thinking we'd both meet with each of them separately-so Annie could get more experience, of course."

"Of course," Annabelle said, a little coldly. "And by the sound of it, she had a rather difficult night last night."

"It's an adjustment, coming back here."

"Yes. It's a pity, though…"

"What is?" Finnick asked warily.

"That she's had so much-trouble adjusting. Most of the _stronger_ victors have quite settled in at this point."

"Annie is stronger than you'll ever be," he said, his voice deepening into a growl.

"Well," Annabelle sniffed, "I see I've touched a nerve."

Luckily, at that moment, Molly entered the room, followed by Liam, giving Annabelle two new targets for her patronizing drivel. Annie appeared soon after, but apart from a sharp glance, Annabelle ignored her completely.

After breakfast, Finnick led Annie and Molly into a side room. Annie remained silent until the end of the meeting, when the subject of the private session with the Gamemakers came up. "Hold back a bit," she said, her voice remarkably steady. "Take some good shots, but don't show off. As long as you play nice during training and pull off a decent score, you'll be in with the tributes from One and Two. They'll provide protection for a few days, but you'll have to take care of yourself from there. Think you can do that?"

Molly seemed a little stunned by Annie's composure. She nodded quickly, her auburn curls bouncing. "Yes. Thank you."

"You can go back and rest now. Please send Liam in," Finnick said as Molly left.

"Good advice," he said to Annie, who smiled.  
"Thanks."

Annie didn't have much to say to Liam, or to anyone for the rest of the day. But she stayed by Finnick's side, and that night, when he slunk back in after meeting yet another patron, when he rapped softly on her door, she opened it immediately. It was a much quieter night for both of them; it seemed that they were too tired for nightmares, and before they knew it, it was the next morning.

The days passed unremarkably, and Finnick fell into a routine. Wake in Annie's room, dress and go to breakfast, get a suspicious glare from Annabelle, talk to the tributes before training, patrons in the evening, crawl back to the hotel and fall asleep in Annie's arms.

The interviews went well enough, and suddenly, the big day had arrived. After giving the tributes some final advice, Finnick and Annie made their way to what was called the Tower, where the mentors all sat in front of monitors, showing them not only where the tributes were, but how much money sponsored had donated, and which items were available to purchase.

Both Liam and Molly survived the bloodbath of the first day and teamed up with the tributes from One and Two. Annie helped Finnick make decisions about how to distribute the funds, but he noticed that she avoided looking at her own monitor, as if afraid of what she might see.

On the third day, Finnick returned from the restroom to find Annie's chair empty.

"Where's Annie?" he demanded, a flash of panic in his eyes.

"Haymitch took her back to her room," Chaff said, putting a reassuring hand on Finnick's arm.

"Seems little miss couldn't bear to watch Seven's boy bleed out," Platt from One said snidely, looking around to see Finnick shoot him a dark glare, his fists clenched.

"Calm down, lover boy," muttered Enobaria. "Let's leave the fighting to the tributes, eh?"

Finnick rolled his eyes, set his jaw, and sat back down at his monitor again.


	7. Chapter 7

Haymitch returned not longer after, his expression closed off.

"She's resting now," he muttered after taking a swig from his bottle.

A few hours later, Finnick glanced over, and jumped slightly, seeing Annie next to him.

"Did you just come back?"  
She nodded silently, her head down, directing her gaze away from the monitor.  
Finnick felt he should do something to comfort her, but was at a bit of a loss. Tentatively, he placed his hand on her shoulder, as he'd done at the Reaping. She said nothing, but smiled to herself.

At the end of the first week, Finnick started to suspect that the girl from Seven-Johanna-was not the weakling she'd made herself out to be. She'd been on her own since the beginning, grabbing an ax and a knife before scampering out of the Cornucopia, taking shelter mostly in trees. At first, he'd chalked her survival up to luck, but watching her hunt-and seeing her quick reaction when she heard any abnormal sound around her-this girl was no amateur.

On the ninth day, Molly, Liam, and the tributes from One and Two were closing in on Johanna. There was a clear shot of her as they approached. Her head shot up when the boy from One stepped on a twig, and everyone froze. Johanna pursed her lips, calculating. Suddenly, she stood up and whirled around, every bit the frantic girl from the interview.  
"H-hello?" She ventured, her voice cracking. "Is somebody-?"

Liam sprung out from behind and grabbed her, pinning her arms down; she screamed and dropped her ax.

Creon, the boy from Two, stepped forward, brandishing a knife.

"No, p-please," Johanna whimpered, "I-I can help you."

"Nice try," Creon hissed, and lunged at her.

In a moment, she dug her left elbow into Liam's stomach, breaking his grip, and her right hand reached into her hip pocket, pulling the knife with which she cut his throat.  
Creon hesitated; Johanna knocked his arm aside and plunged her knife into his chest. Creon's blade fell uselessly to the ground.

The pack had scattered, Molly and the boy from One sprinting away. Rather than going for Johanna, who had regained hold of her ax, Sapphire (from Two) used Creon's knife to stab the girl from One. Johanna raised her ax, and visions of Eric and Cassio flashed through Finnick's mind. He flung his arm off to the side, slamming Annie into the back of her chair, in a desperate effort to keep her from watching as Johanna killed Sapphire.

He needn't have worried. Annie had had her eyes closed and her hands clamped over her ears since the moment Liam's body hit the ground.

It took at least an hour before she was able to respond to the world around her, and then she barely managed to whisper, "Molly?"

"She took your advice," Finnick said. "She's out for herself."

The Games lasted for two more days. The boy from One took out a couple of stragglers before Molly put an arrow through his head.

Molly and Johanna were the final two tributes. Molly was favored, if only because the assumption was that Johanna would have to get close to Molly to kill her.  
Johanna proved that assumption wrong when she threw her ax and buried it between Molly's shoulder blades.

Finnick and Annie stuck around long enough to watch Johanna's interview-in which Johanna had completely abandoned all pretense of being timid or fearful-before boarding the train that would take them back to Four.

They were nearly home when Annie broke the silence.

"Finnick?"

"Mhm?"

"What…are we? I mean, to each other?" Annie folded her arms tightly across her chest, as if to warm herself, thought it was the middle of summer.

"We are…whatever you want us to be."

There was an uncomfortable pause, and Annie began to bite her lower lip, staring into space. _Is she thinking, or did I lose her again?_ Finnick was getting anxious. Now that this conversation had begun, he wanted to see it to its conclusion, whatever that might be. _I shouldn't have said that. I should have just answered "friends," and not risked making her uncomfortable. She's just stopped despising me for what I do-what I _have _to do-in the Capitol. And what in the world made me think this could ever work, that "we" could ever work, even if she did- _

"I don't want to be friends," she said finally, conclusively.

Finnick opened his mouth to speak, but instead he felt as though his throat was closing up. He found himself uttering a series of meaningless words. "Oh. Alright. That's fine. I-never mind. No problem, really."

"No, I didn't mean…" Annie turned to look at him, her eyes wide. Words failed her, as they often did these days. Her thoughts scattered. _What-I said something wrong, didn't I? I said-but I meant-What did I mean? _Her words dissolved, but her hands remembered. She reached up and over, and tilted Finnick face down towards her. He was fidgeting slightly, trying to keep his composure, hurt and embarrassment and curiosity flickering through his green eyes. _Always in flux, like the sea. _ Annie rose up on her knees on the seat, placing her arm on the headrest to balance. She'd only done this once before, two years ago, before-before the Games-_before the arena, before the water, the silver, the blood-__**NO**__, not now_-before she lost her nerve or slipped away, Annie leaned in and gently touched her lips to Finnick's.

She felt rather than saw him smile and knew then that he understood. He kissed back, placing one hand around her waist and running the other through her hair.

When they pulled away, Finnick laughed quietly. "I really have to stop jumping to conclusions."


	8. Chapter 8

"I used to think you were a sleazeball." That was how Johanna Mason greeted Finnick when they crossed paths in the Capitol not long before the 72nd Games.

Finnick opened his mouth and then closed it again, unable to think of an appropriate response.

"I don't think that anymore," she continued.

Finnick suddenly remembered the whispers in Four, that Johanna's mother and sister had been in some kind of accident-or perhaps, something that was made to appear an accident.

"Would you like to step out for a moment?" He asked, gesturing towards the terrace. "Get some fresh air?"

Johanna looked at him with that same calculating expression he'd seen in her Games, evidently figuring out if Finnick was going to try anything. Finally, she nodded.

When the doors were shut behind them, Johanna added quietly, "I was told I would be sorry if I didn't-what was the phrase? "Show appropriate gratitude" to some of these lovely Capitol citizens who sponsored me. The first guy thought I was being cute when I told him not to touch me if he ever wanted to reproduce. A couple well-aimed kicks later…" Finnick winced, immensely thankful that he had not been planning to "try anything" on Johanna upon hearing of these results.

"And are you-sorry, I mean?"

Johanna shrugged, her expression unreadable. "I have my self-respect, if nothing else."

"Ah, and therein lies the difference between us."

She didn't deny it.

"I'm sorry about your father," she said after a while, staring out over the grounds.

"Thanks." Mr. Odair had passed away just a few months before-heart attack. _At least it was natural, _Finnick thought. _Nothing I could have done-right?_

"I never really knew my dad. He took off not long after my sister was born," Johanna continued in an undertone, knowing the music from inside would drown out their conversation, "I suppose we can do what we please now. There's no one else for them to take."

"Maybe from you," he said grimly.

"Oh," Johanna said, just a little too interested, turning to face Finnick.

"What?"

"That casts a different light on a little story I overheard…how you were being so kind, looking after Annie Cresta last year."

Finnick froze. _If they know, _he _knows. Snow knows. _

"Don't worry, you come out like a perfect gentleman, taking care of the helpless little princess…"

"Stop," he said forcefully.

"I'm just saying, it's a little too convenient, this "madness," isn't it? I mean, what does she have to live with that we don't see every night in our nightmares? What's the difference?"

"The difference is that when we wake up, the nightmare is over. Annie doesn't wake up."

There was a brief, tense silence, which Johanna broke by making a sound somewhere between a scoff and a low laugh. "You've got it bad."

When Finnick looked back over to her, she was gone. He spun around just in time to see her reentering the ballroom, a careless wave thrown in his general direction. She didn't look back.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: This is going to be the last chapter-I figured I'd end it on a poignant note! Thanks so much for the reviews and favorites!

Two days later, and Finnick was back in Four, though not for as long as he would have liked: the Reaping was the following week. Mags's health had greatly improved; evidently enough that Snow had asked her to mentor again. The four of them, Mags, Finnick, Annie, and her father, had all gathered for dinner at Mags's house. Mr. Cresta was the odd one out in this motley crew of Victors, but for his part, if this young man and sweet (if slightly dotty) old woman made Annie feel safe, they were alright with him.

After dinner, Mags went up to bed, and the remaining three cleaned up and retired to the Crestas' house; Finnick spent easily twice as much time there as in his own home in Victors Village. This arrangement was easier for him and Annie both. When either of them had a nightmare, the other would be there for comfort, and Finnick would not have to sleep in that empty house. That was the hardest part of dealing with his father's death. The horrible still, silent, emptiness of the house.

Finnick pulled on an old t-shirt and climbed into bed. He was half-asleep when realized that Annie was speaking to him.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He thought he must have missed something. "For what?"

"That you have to put up with this-put up with me."  
Even in the semi-darkness, he could see tears glistening in her eyes.

"What are you _talking_ about?" he asked, bewildered.

"I make things more difficult for you."

"How do you figure?"  
"Without me, you could be-"

"Be what?"

"Be normal."

It was a moment before Finnick found the words to respond. "Nothing about my life is normal. I haven't known "normal" in _seven years_. Being owned by the Capitol, being stared at and prodded and grabbed and molded how they wanted to mold me. The only thing in my life that makes any _sense_ is when I'm here with you."

Annie had been working herself into hysteria, but her gasps and sobs had calmed to the occasional sniffle. "Still, I feel like I'm a burden to you. I'm the poor, mad girl…"

"You've been here nights when I've woken up from a nightmare thrashing around and crying like a baby. And you think you're the weak one, the mad one? Do you want to know what I think of when I think of you?"

Annie nodded silently.

"I think of the girl on the docks that day, carefree and happy. I think of the girl who always got the answer right in school and was quick enough in the arena to know when to fight and when to run. The girl who brushed past me on the train because she wanted me to know that I had earn her respect. The girl who sat by Mags's bedside when she was too tired to get up. You are kind, smart, and stronger than you think, and I love you."

After nearly a solid minute of silence, Annie turned and smiled at him, her face lit up by the moonlight. She said only four words, but they were the four words he most needed to hear.

"I love you too."


End file.
